aps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what
dreams are."

Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and
she did not feel like a princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely,
lonely child.

"If my papa had lived," she said, "they would not have treated me like
this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me."

Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door.

Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it
myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she
thought something strange had happened to her eyes--to her mind--that
the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep.

"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know
it isn't true!" And she slipped into the room and closed the door and
locked it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before
her.

Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold
when she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite
respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little
brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm,
thick rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with
cushions on it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded,
covered with a white cloth, and upon it were spread small covered
dishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm
coverings, a curious wadded silk robe, and some books. The little, cold,
miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually warm and
glowing.

"It is bewitched!" said Sara. "Or I am bewitched. I only think I see
it all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care--I don't
care--if I can only keep it up!"

She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her
back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel
warm, and then she moved forward.

"A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm," she said.
"It feels real--real."

She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table;
she lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and
savory in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for
the boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it,
another, muffins.

"It is real," said Sara. "The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit
in the chair; the things are real